


You Are My Lucky Number

by shootingstarlarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Lottery, M/M, Smut, famous!harry, uni!Louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4795124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shootingstarlarry/pseuds/shootingstarlarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson is a very lucky - despite of what he thinks - University student situated in a dodgy neighbourhood in London. Along with his mildly insane best friend and disgustingly in love friends Zayn and Liam his life feels fulfilled. With an internship, job and minimal sleep deprivation, Louis is practically at his prime - until a lottery ticket decides it <i>can</i> get better.<br/>On the opposite side of London is Harry, a once famous Briton in his early decay, a fact he isn't bothered with. And <i>of course</i> is Harry the one and only presentor of Eurolotto's  Million's game.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Or, the one in which Louis wins the lottery and Harry brings him his prize.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Luck is a Strange Thing

**Author's Note:**

> **Tumblr** : [frogplushedgehog]()
> 
> I'm always open to answer questions, kindness and talk about Louis' thighs :^)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis is ranting and Niall goes into meltdown-mode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome!
> 
> This is a WIP and will be around 10-15k. The chapters are short and will be updated erratically, as I despise routine.. :) I suppose this is the first fic I've posted and am proud of and plan on actually finishing - fingers crossed the curse that is writer's block won't return. I absolutely love feedback and your personal opinions, so don't feel scared to leave a comment and mostly, I hope you'll like it!
> 
> - _Ella_  
>  **Tumblr** : [Frogplushedgehog]()

If there was one thing lacking in Louis' life, it was luck.

He just didn't have it. Maybe he was just simply born with it. Maybe he had insulted a god without being aware of it. Maybe when he was fourteen and he had put chewing gum in his sister's blond locks and she had put a curse upon him, it had actually worked.

By now, he always had the assumption of being unlucky by default.

It wasn't a massive thing to feel bummed about, because, except for that little flaw in his whole being, Louis had an absolutely wonderful life.

As wonderful as it could get for a double major in Drama and English literature in their third year.

He had a flimsy shared apartment with three of his best friends, a job as a bartender in a ridiculously named club called 'The Glowing Jungle', an internship at a musical in West End - he was pretty damn excited about - and had developed a system that would prevent him from being drowned in his unwritten essays.

A system of complete simplicity.

Normally, Louis' afternoons would look like this:

Binge-watching reruns of family guy and Four Weddings and then finishing his never-ending pile of blank papers that needed to be filled until deep into the night.

Now, Louis had learned to turn these two steps around, leaving him with a fair amount of more profit than before.

Aspect one of his profit: He could watch a whole lot more of interesting programmes than at four pm.

Aspect two of his profit: He could fall asleep whilst looking at the Geordies 'pulling some birds'.

Aspect three of his profit: His off-time would be aligned with his roommates. Meaning, he could watch telly amongst the presence of Niall and Liam. Zayn would be joining them later.

The only loss of this innovative product of Louis' smart thinking, so he thought, was that one hour of his reserved television time was occupied by a show in which you supposedly could win millions of pounds, if you had the golden ticket in your possession.

Coming back to the topic of the shortened and precious television time belonging to Louis, the one whom had nipped that one hour away was none other than his best friend, Niall.

When, why and how Niall had developed the habit of sitting every saturday evening less than a yard away from the bright television screen and focusedly watching the EuroLotto show whilst sending incoherent prayers to no one in particular, hoping he finally had struck gold and simultaneously almost ripping his ticket in a thousand small pieces, remained a mystery to their group of friends.

Louis, Liam and Zayn were used to the unusual phenomenom though and patiently waited for the unevitable: The endless chain of Irish profanities that were outspoken when the combination of numbers and syllables was the wrong one.

And just like every pathetic saturday evening in the Tomlinson-Empire, seeing Louis was the prominent dictator of the shared household, Thai takeaway cardboard boxes were scattered across the couch and floor and Niall's face was already plastered onto the tv-screen.

"Ni, it won't even start 'til eight. There's still.." Zayn paused to look at a broken clock on his left, telling him it was noon. He redirected his resources to his iPhone, reading ten past seven. "..An hour to waste."

"We can zap and watch sixteen year olds push a baby through their stunted hips?" The dictator himself chimed in.

They all collectively groaned at the comment.

"Watching Animal Planet sounds more appealing than Teen Mom, to be honest." Liam exasperatedly spoke.

"Animal Planet is exactly the same, babe, only the uneducated American preteen is some fat hippo. I know what sounds more appealing to me."

Liam was frowning now, but Zayn made his snarky comment up by pressing a swift kiss to his forehead, making it disappear as fast as it came.

Louis and Niall had stopped the constant teasing of Zayn and Liam's couple-y tendencies, knowing it "wouldn't give any lucrative addition to their IQ's", as Zayn had remarked once. They had learned that after three years of yelling "Get a room, you wankers!", "keep the PDA down" and Louis walking in on two half naked adolescents ravishing each other, occasionally on Louis' dorm bed, that it was a hopeless case that needed to be rested.

'Ziam', as Louis and Niall loved to refer to the romance as, were attached at the hip and nothing and no one was going to change that in the nearby future.

Zayn and Liam were grateful about that, especially Liam, because he was the exact opposite of Zayn, whom could effortlessly come up with a sly comeback and shut his two poking best friends effectively up.

"So, Ireland, what holy combination is going to help you win a million pounds today?" Louis mock-interestedly asked, Zayn and Liam too caught up in bopping each other's noses.

Niall shot him a glare and shortly after started to pocket his entire outfit. After a good two minutes of zigzagging through the apartment, he abruptly stopped and stilled completely.

Now, the entire population of the living room slash kitchen was looking at their paling friend.

"I forgot to buy my ticket." Was what the Irishman quietly croaked out.

That's when everybody started taking action, because this had happened before. One time.

It was when the four of them had just met and Louis had arranged a tellie night that involved more than one person crying because of a stupid romcom.

The four of them had gathered in Louis and Zayn's dorm and built a cushion fort, all hunched up together and looking at Louis' miniscule laptop screen.

When they all, except for Zayn, had puffy eyes near six pm, Niall had hurriedly announced he had to go back to his dorm to catch his programme, seeing they didn't have a tv to their disposal in this dorm.

That's when they realized Niall did have a tv in his dorm and they moved their fort two floors up the stairs.

When they were all ready to watch Niall's show, the flat having endured an entire metamorphose, Niall realized that he had no ticket.

Just like right now, he had stilled and uttered that exact sentence. Zayn had raced to the nearest off-licence minimarket and bought a ticket, whilst Louis and Liam were trying to calm a nearly hyperventilating Niall.

Their plan had worked and before the winning ticket was announced, Niall had sat on his bed, bundled up in the sacrificied comforters of the other boys, with bloodshot eyes, a ticket and a steaming cup of tea in his hand.

So when Niall had spoken those words, the three of them gave each other a curt nod and moved from their comfortable spots.

Louis quickly ushered his denim jacket over his shoulders and skedaddled out the door, wallet in hand. He could already hear Zayn and Liam's soothing words from the hallway.

He didn't have time for that though, because without a ticket, those soothing words were useless.

He took the pace of an eager hiker and started his journey through his dodgy neighborhood, spotting the blinking '24/7' sign rather quickly. He fished twenty pounds out of his wallet before he even had set a foot inside the cramped store, and slammed it down on the counter where a surprised and semi-scared looking boy was standing behind.

Louis felt a bit of guilt rushing over him, but as aforementioned, he had to be quick.

"C-can I help y-" was the only thing the lanky fifteen year old covered in zits could bring out, before he was interrupted by Louis.

"How many EuroLotto tickets can I get for, exactly this." Motioning to the crumpled twenty Pounds submissively laying on the counter.

"Exactly four, sir-" The boy replied, once again cut off.

"Great, four EuroLottos it be then."

The tickets were layed out on the counter and another stammered sentence came out of the teenager. "Your name, si- sir?"

"Louis Tomlinson." He answered with a rather loud tone.

A second later the sound of a printing machine could be heard along with a "Here you are."

Louis grabbed the outheld tickets and sent a rather shortlasting apologetic smile to the counter.

Louis sprinted back to their apartment and before the kettle had even started whistling his monotone sound, he had stormed through the front door and leaped towards Niall, proudly holding the four tickets in front of him.

Niall snatched one ticket out of Louis's, but leaving the remaining three in the other's hands.

"Well NiNi," Louis inquired softly, whilst Niall was being wrapped in a soft blanket, probaly originated from Liam and Zayn's bed. "Aren't you going to take these three magnificent paper bombs of luck?" Louis paused to have a look at the stoic face of his best friend. "Also aren't I getting anything back for this? A kiss on the cheek? A big ol' hug from the one and only Niall? As a reward for my kind- and thoughtfulness-"

"I only need one, Lou. Only one." Niall cut Louis off, tone robotic, like a television-addicted zombie, speaking his programmed words a tad too low.

Louis raised his rounded eyebrows, "Niall Horan, I did not spend twenty quid on these tickets, only to have you tell me I wasted fifteen, with not even one glance in my directi-"

"Oh Lou, leave that boy alone. Z and me, you even, can play one game, yeah? I'll pay you back." Liam ended with a suggesting tug at the lips.

Louis grunted, hanging his coat on the cloak near the frontdoor and bringing a muffled "Fine." out whilst facing the wall.

"Good boy, Lou. You're learning." Liam teasingly spoke, soon after the kettle commerced with making its horrendous whistling sound.

"Z," Liam yelled to his lover, probaly having a cigarette on the excruciatingly small balcony connected to their bedroom.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it." Zayn said, already walking in and turning the knob of the hob around and stopping the whistling.

Louis plopped himself down on his personally selected lounge chair next to a doe-eyed Niall, reading twenty-to-eight on the clock. Liam quit his failing tease-Louis-act and stood up to help Zayn prepare the tea.

Two minutes later, all boys were wrapped up in their usual spots, watching the horribly montaged commercials in absolute silence.

"Oh, yeah, right." Louis suddenly remembered the lottery tickets, leaning over to the coffeetable where they lay. He grabbed them and sank back into his comfortable position, distributing the lottery tickets. In other words: tossing the tickets over to the Ziam couch and failing miserably.

They arrived safely though and after a silent comment from Zayn, consisting of "Louis, you tosser. You can't even throw shit without missing completely.", the silence had returned once again.

Fifteen minutes and an empty teacup later, a calmed down Niall had already moved to sit on the carpet.


	2. Shock and an Extricated Sock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis might have shaken off his spell of unluckiness once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Louis P.O.V again. I'll be switching until the two plotlines interfere.

Whereas Louis would normally be agitated about Niall claiming a part of the couch, he actually didn't mind it during the sixty minutes of "Maybe next time, Nialler."

The sixty minutes of "Maybe next time, Nialler." were from the moment Niall found out he hadn't won a million pounds and the hour after that. He had a particular ritual and it was similar to this: every five minutes when he had gotten himself too riled up on the white rug laying on the ground, Louis, Liam and Zayn would absentmindedly repeat the same words "Maybe next time, Nialler."

Louis had assigned this hour its name during the fifth week after their first day in University.

Back to the subject though.

Niall. couch. Annoyed.

Andbutso, Louis was actually pretty content during that hour.

Not because he was a good friend whom didn't disturb Niall at the only time in the week he wasn't constantly chattering about nonsense, no, it was because the previously taken seat on the other half of the couch wasn't taken.

He could enjoy his tellie-time, just like the good ol' days when he had yet to come up with his ingenious system, which was about two years ago. He could just stretch his perky little legs and watch tv as Niall was seated on the worn out rug, probaly damaging his eyes permanently from the light that shone from the tv screen.

However, Louis wasn't there to tell Niall what to do or redirect him from his natural routine. It was his thing, so who was Louis to stop him from becoming blind?

Just, not everyone in his household seemed to have his way of thinking and with 'not everyone' Louis meant Liam.

Zayn was too laid back to actually interfere with someone else's life or the way of handling their own, but Liam, Liam just had to be this concerned mother who would tell you off for anything.

That's why Louis was agitated at that moment, because Liam had practically towed Niall to Louis' couch and made him sit down to prevent Niall from getting any optical damage.

Soon, though, the sixty minutes of "maybe next, Nialler." were getting closer, because the familiar intro tune of Eurolotto's Millions Game was being recited through the room.

An excited squeal emerged from Niall's mouth and Louis heaved an exasperated sigh at that.

Let the hour of Hell begin.

It was a bit crude to say it like that, because sometimes the lot of them could actually enjoy themselves in this - holy, to Niall - hour of the week.

Zayn would make snarky comments on someone's astonishingly wrong answers and Louis would be a fashion cop and laugh at the contestant's clothes, whilst Liam was telling them off for being such cruel people.

Niall just tuned them out and payed full attention to every move the pixels on the old-fashioned television screen made. He sometimes would let an incoherent mumble out, but the entourage decided it was best they didn't want to know what he was saying.

Niall wasn't this kid with an obsession and whom you could question whether they were sane or not at all times. Niall was an unbelievably sweet guy who had a passion for living.

No drama, no poetic waxing about life, no gossiping, basically no crap. If that made him live in oblivion, so be it. That was Niall.

All had put their attention to the screen now, listening to the - obnoxious - voice of the familiar presentor, whom was booming his usual words and staged phrases.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen!  
Tonight is another hour of the world-famous, nerve-wrecking, million-spilling EuroLotto's Golden Suitcase Game."

The show consisted of three different segments. The first one, when a poor and dumbstruck person was chosen from the audience. They would aselectly open the golden suitcases, which were held by scarsely clothed woman with a shining smile on their faces.

It was paining to look at, Louis found. Just to see someone smile so forcedly for so long, they must have trained for that. That was a real talent.

The second segment was the most important one. That was when the winning combinations got announced, followed by a person, that was famous for no recent reason, carrying a golden cheque and bringing it to the winning household to surprise them.

The third one was when the announcements of the smaller prizes were presented. After that, the show ended with another paining smile from a woman.

By now, they were into the seventeenth minute, so that meant there were still twenty-eight minutes left until there would be shown an overload of sympathy to the Irish lad.

Louis wasn't particularly good at doing forced things. He was an amazing actor, obviously, but acting like he was having the time of his life when his insides were a dark abyss full of gruesome things, was something he preferred not to do. Or rather, refused to do.

And that was exactly how Louis' insides were feeling right at that moment, because Zayn had fallen asleep, his head resting on Liam's lap and legs dangling of off of the sofa's edge. It was very cute, Louis confessed in his head - he would never admit that out loud though - because when he turned away from Liam's fond head that was looking caringly at his partner's face, he muttered a barely audible "Disgusting.".

Though, that wasn't why Louis' insides were feeling like an abominable, 5th grade performance of the Swan Lake, it was because now, he was stuck with one person who wasn't capable of speaking and one person who respected the other's passion and didn't dare to disturb.

Louis couldn't be the fashion police, because his accomplice wasn't there to protect him from Liam's "hush"'es.

So Louis sat in absolute silence waiting until the second fragment would begin, with a slumped, nail-picking and sighing posture.

He was just showing his inner feelings, that was all.

Liam did shoot him some warning glances, but Louis would raise his eyebrows, just to make his friend's life just a bit harder.

After Liam's third try to surpress Louis' behaviour, the presentor started speaking his infamous line, which wasn't followed by a cliffhanger or commercial. Louis had to give the tv producers kudos for that.

"And now, also you at home have a chance to become EuroLotto's next millionare!"

Niall's breath hitched and his head turned a hundred degrees in record time.

"Louis! Liam! Louis! Where did I put my, my ticket?! I swear-" Niall was cut off by Liam tapping the lottery ticket, almost being shred, in Niall's hand.

Niall heaved a relieved sigh and started to close his eyes and silently pray. Liam took that as a reminder and scanned the room until he had spotted his own lottery ticket and took it in his hand, studying the piece of paper.

Louis didn't move from his spot and stated "This is such bullshit." when the slicked up man on the tv started stretching time.

The one whom had won had his name registrated on the lottery ticket, and from there the crew of the show could locate the lucky person to film the live fragment when the cheque got handed to them.

Louis took his ticket in hand and took a quick glance at it. He imprinted the code in his head, just so he could skip a few minutes of paying full attention to the programme. When he thought to be ready and Niall was looking even more intense than ever the last words of the presentor were spoken.

"And today's winning combination is... "

The moment was always cut off by some weird sound, like when a code has to be hacked during a James Bond movie, and one by one the vowels and numbers were shown. The presentatrice started speaking up.

"H-I-K-T-3-9-7-7-5-2"

Liam already started speaking up the infamous line "Mayb-" but was cut off by a person sitting on his right, whose heart had been beating faster with every number being announced.

"I won." Was what had been stated in a soft tone of disbelief. "I won!" This time significantly louder and Louis checking everything again and again and again.

Niall and Liam were nighing the, then standing, Louis. "I fucking WON Liam! I'm a millionare! I'm rich! Niall, my dear friend, why aren't you screaming out of luck and pure happiness with me?"

Liam had caught the flying ticket when it had been thrown in the air, along with a sock - Liam didn't bother asking - because he was closely studying the ticket, Niall next to him, and slowly realizing Louis had indeed won.

"Louis, you damn bastard.." Liam spoke out.

Niall sat down and started rocking himself back an forth. Liam ran to the couch where Zayn was sprawled out on.

"Z!.." a pat on the cheek, "love," A pinch in the arm, "babe!" A poke in the side followed by a gentle slap across the face, waking zayn up, "Zayn Fucking Malik, Louis Fucking Tomlinson won the fucking lottery!"

"Whassit?" Zayn brought out confusedly. He was scooped up out of his comfortable position.

Louis had already taken a cheap bottle of wine from the drawer that was meant for badly gone break-up's and chugged it down a quarter, still chanting things along the lines of "I can buy Ferraris, a helicopter, I can be a stupid famous person for Christ's sake! I have money!"

"What in Hell are you doing, Li?!" Zayn was yelling continuous statements of confusion from his position in Liam's arms, but Liam shut him up by kissing him and saying "We won.." until they had gotten to the balcony.

"Louis, come here! Get Niall, will you lad?"

A faint "Anything for the poor!" could be heard from the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all liked it, and can't believe it got so many hits and kudos in two days! I'll definitely finish this, I think. :)


	3. Off-Track-Ness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is happy, because what else should he be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First change of Point of View.

Harry loved his job. It wasn't very well paying - relatively - nor relaxing and there always was clamorous screaming and yelling.

The only thing Harry was there for, was the pure happiness he could witness when he brought people their prize, regardless of the fact that money didn't provide eternal glee.

God, that could be embroided on a cushion.

That moment, when Harry was stood next to these people, they were happy and surprised and shocked and everything someone would want to be in the presence of.

Right now, he was in the studio, arranging a cuppa for himself and his intern, who traveled at least one and a half hour by tube to get here.

Harry still wondered why the nineteen-year-old did what he did, because he was doing a sound engineer bachelor, so the most logical thing to do was to have him do sound engineer-y stuff with the sound engineer.

However, the little above middle aged SE [Harry decided it would be easier to refer to sound engineer this way, as the word was starting to nag him], was on the verge of having a burn out and had sent an enthusiastic adolescent away on his first day.

It had been a sad prospect for Chris to leave on his first day, so Harry invited the boy inside his flimsy janitor's closet that was his so-called office and took him under his wing.

Now, Chris was happily skipping after Harry on every saturday afternoon and sometimes tried to sneak into the control room. He had been scolded before, when he had been fucking with the microphones before the show went on air.

It had been a total disaster behind the scenes, but had been fixed by a fainting SE.

Since then, Chris had kept his hands to himself, meaning he hadn't touched a single thing in the past week. Not even the coffee machine, out of fear of breaking even more things and being sent home.

So that's how Harry ended up in this current position. Getting a coffee for his intern, when it should've been the other way around. If he wanted to stick the 'boss is a dick and lets naive intern do stupid chores' format.

But that was obviously not the case, so there Harry was.

He was getting off track.

Ten minutes later Harry was back in his tiny personal space and sat himself down across from a fixed figure staring ahead.

Harry decided to speak to the stoic face. "You okay there?"

Chris maintained to be quiet and took his coffee with a generous smile sent to Harry.

"Really, you can talk to me. I may speak above my knowledge, but my common sense is still working." Harry ended with a curt squeeze in Chris' shoulders and sat on the other side of his desk.

Chris looked in "Yeah, yeah, all right. Just thinking about school, y'know? I love Uni and such, but I don't feel at home or on my place.." Chris took a small break to heave a sigh, "like I hate parties and all of my friends are in the 'fuck it' phase, when I'm taking every page of my books in to even make it." and he let himself fall down in his chair.

"Well, I actually don't know; I've never been to Uni. I've spent my young years trying to raise to fame. Didn't really work out as I planned.. What I can tell you is that working hard is not a bad thing, don't let people tell you otherwise."

Chris chuckled shortly, "Such motherly advice you've got, Harold Edward Styles. You should start a talkshow."

"Have you been googling me? I have never told you my full name.." Harry mock-suspiciously countered. Chris raised his eyebrows. "Maybe your quest to find the holy privilege of fame has been found anyways."

Harry downed the last of his tea and began standing up. "Anyhow, after my ultracrepidarian lessons and your stalkerish tendencies I'm afraid I have to leave now."

"Fancy words, Styles! Fame and brains I see. No Uni, huh?" Chris yelled after him.

"It's called vocab, young one!" Harry replied, already in the corridor.

☆

A bit more than eight hours were left until the most chaotic phenomenom would occur. Harry was the presentor of a live segment, played in a show that aired every week. It was sponsered by Eurolotto and that's why, funnily enough, it was called Eurolotto's Millions Game. During the show a few things happened, amongst these there had to be a cheque brought to the winner. That was Harry's job.

With a bouquet and a golden cheque in hand, Harry would introduce the viewers to the winner, whilst walking on the pavement leading to the winner's house. The doorbell would ring and ensuite a brief interview and continuous shots of flabbergasted faces would come on. After that, the third segment would begin.

Since the combination was randomized only after six o'clock, it was an absolute mess behind the scenes as everyone in charge of said segment was trying to retrieve more information on who the winner was and their address. Harry was only in charge of the areas that could be reached in two hours from the studio, London and Kent, but because literally someone from Rome could win, Harry wasn't often on air.

Although sixteen million people lived in London, in Harry's two years of working in the studio, only a couple of times had someone been close enough for him to get into the van with a film crew, a bouquet and a cheque.

It didn't matter to Harry, because he didn't expect to have a much higher function than his current one.

When he was eighteen he had played in a mildly braincell-depriving soap about a group of youngsters solving myths and shit aimed at teenagers. The show had been popular for about two years and after that disaster he had landed a small role in a British blockbuster movie and a few other small shows.

By the time he was twenty-two, he was part of the untalented and practically useless - that's what the public's stereotypical perception was - group of nationally famous people going through their midlife crisis.

Harry had a few, like three or four, cynical views on life and this was one of them. After society's view on famous people, the fame itself had also landed a highly placed spot on top of the small list.

Harry despised fame, but getting into that topic now could lead to even more off-track-ness.

Andbutso, returning to the topic of preparing for the big night, was a last-minute stressful job. and it was nearing with the hour. Kind of unfortunate. 

Harry was actually exaggerating this whole 'stressful' part, because, really, he didn't have to do anything. He just had felt others' stressed aura and such. As much as the aim was to return to the aforementioned, it had already referenced to the topic of fame. Sigh.

Anyways, all Harry really had to do be near the garage and await fate's considerings. But as mentioned, mostly not in Harry's favour. He'd be told that they picked someone else, followed by a mile-long story of how cool everything behind the scenes had been by Chris. He'd be on the tip of his chair and fervently storytelling, something he had yet to master, and Harry'd be disappointedly nodding along, because why was he even there. He got paid for something he wasn't even doing. 

Sometimes he wondered why the bloody show wasn't pre-recorded or something, and Chris had asked that same question before, Harry remembered. The answer to that question had been inherited from Carla, who'd been sixty-somehting and hadn't changed jobs since her twenties, behind the administration desk. She'd been the receptionist since anyone could remember and had outspoken her frustrations on a saturday like this at 7 PM, because nobody had picked up their office phone. That time was his first time in the studio and he had been invited by the director, but ended up waiting over an hour to actually get inside.

Anyhow, Carla had told him that since a few years a new director had been in charge of the making. Viewer rates were going down drastically and desperate times called for desperate measures, resulting in him finding that it should be more genuine. Well, if there'd be anything that wasn't genuine it'd be TV shows, Carla had rhetorically countered. So, to enhance the show's reality, the desperate measure some boss high up called for was to film the segment Harry was currently presenting entirely live. No scripted interviews, variety and people and their near-death experiences on live TV. 

Harry had to admit, it became a whole lot more fun to watch, but to see their 'investigators' pull their hair out of their skulls with a deadline of thirty minutes was a painful sight.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris might get a _tad_ excited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still Harry Point Of View.

It was a solid ten minutes to six o'clock and Harry was buzzing, to say the least. This was what the week brought down to and his excitement had to be contained. Chris, who had been sitting next to him once again was even more pumped than Harry, maybe. The two sat in the control room, watching the multiple screens and the executive producers and director nearly bawl their eyes out because of the immense stress. Nearly the entire show was live, as told, and making sure no one fucked up because of an awkward silence or a mispronounciation was something the ones higher up would get shit for and the ones down would see a few heads roll. All were aware of this and that didn't really help with not getting even more riled up.

''Have you actually been the one to present before?'' Chris innocently asks Harry as they watch the chaos in front of them play out. Harry daintily chirps up and nods, ''Yes, twice. The first time I was so incredibly nervous; everything went well though. We were a bit late, 'cause it was in Kent. We filmed the intro part and as we walked this enormous mansion slash barn comes up as we round the corner. I guess a few million wouldn't really change much.'' he chuckles. Chris joins in a bit later. Harry continues shortly after. ''The second time it was a huge family; six children, all quite young. I wanted to pick a few toddlers and babies up real bad, but had to refrain because of duties..'' Chris laughs again, ''You seem to be quite keen on the younger ones for a single,'' he raises both hands to air-quote single, ''bloke, Styles. Should we be getting a pretty lady for you or somethin'? Maybe Jane from secretary.'' Chris wiggles his eyebrows, but Harry visibly flinches at the word lady.

''Anyways,'' Harry opts for a subtle subject change, ''It was a pretty well-needed prize and I was more than happy to deliver it.'' and ends with a satisfied tug on the lips. Chris had picked up on Harry's sly move and accusingly raised his eyebrows. He disregarded it either way; he'd ask the older lad later.

In a short matter of time the noise had noticably gone up, and as Harry checked his left wrist the cause had soon been found. The results of the Eurolotto were on. Harry started walking towards the few rows of desks and office chairs seated by hackers and computer nerds, trying to find this week's winner. Chris closely followed.

''Dude, why the fucking Hell does it take over two minutes to fill in a damn code and scan the database?'' One of the hackers from the left yells to a lad that looks absolutely petrified. Harry believes his name's Will. ''Newbie'', his neighbour whispers to the one next to him. The alleged newbie starts to type rapidly and soon after yelling ''Louis Tomlinson, it says!'' to the then even more agitated on the left. ''Let's find this Lewis, motherfuckers!'' the receiver yells as he directs his attention from the ceiling to his computer screen. The other ones who had previously laid their legs on their desks were now focusedly scanning their screens. Harry makes a threehundred-sixty to check if Chris hadn't took off to haunt the SE, but quickly found him on a abandoned deskchair with his face plastered onto his phone. Harry chuckled a bit at the sight.

Harry walked into the first aisle of desktops and soon spotted a friend slash colleague he hadn't seen in over a month. ''Dylan, you're back!". At that a head with dirty blonde hair whipped around and his eyes widened in surprise. ''Harry! Good 't see ya!'' Said Dylan exclaimed and stood op to give Harry a 'bro' embrace. ''Where have you been?'' Harry questions.   
Dylan wrinkles his nose at that. ''Broke me arm and took some time recovering, but I'd have t' tell ya later, man. I'm kind of supposed to be doing something right now." Harry quickly elaborates, ''Yeah, yeah, 'course. You should be doing stuff. I'll catch you later, mate.'' and slowly retreated back to a still phone-engrossed Chris. 

He grabs a chair from somewhere nearby and slides it over next to Chris. Sometimes it was nice to always have some company, Harry thought. Chris looks up, only then realizing the other sitting next to him. Chris asks ''Who was that guy?'', whilst still scrolling through what seemed to be Facebook. Harry was more of an Instagram kinda guy. ''You're keeping tabs on me now, hubby?'' he teasingly taunts, but Chris didn't seem to have it. Harry raises his hands in surrender. ''Dylan. Been working here since two years or so, wanted to be a video game designer but gave up on studying and this is where he winded up. He's a kind lad, though, so..''

Chris nods in some sort of agreement, indicating he hadn't really been paying attention. Harry clicks his tongue and starts leaning over to the one next to him, trying to find the cause behind his friend's sudden dedication to his phone. He spots a timeline with a photo of a guy with very fluffy hair that seemed to be very much bleached. ''Are you just casually facebook stalking someone or is there a special occasion for you to not care about tonight at all? Usually I can't even keep up with you, because of your strong desire to skip around.'' 

Chris doesn't look up. ''Hush, Harry, Hush. I'm not just facebook stalking someone, I'm stalking tonight's winner.'' Harry pauses for a moment or two. ''You are what?'' ''You heard me, Louis Tomlinson, I know how to pronounce because he rants about it being Louie, not Lewis, quite a lot, whom goes to UCL..'' Harry might've had a mini heart attack right then and there, because he might be in a breadvan by seven, ''has won a solid three fucking million pounds at age twenty-two. Lucky bastard. And he's quite attractive too, I bet he gets all the gi-'' Harry nearly hold his hand in front of Chris' venting mouth, ''How the fuck you know it's him?'' ''Dude, if you type in Louis Tomlinson plus Kent and surroundings in Google, likely, you'll be very fast to find him. He's like the only one with that name.'' 

''But Chris, if you're right- and by the way, how do you know about Kent and surroundings?'' ''Christ, Harry, while you were having your ritual greeting with Dan or whatever, the others were like yelling stuff to and fro. Not much of a classified progress.'' Chris counters with a sly grin on his face. 

''So you wanna see Mr. Lewis or what? Or you can be surprised when you see him in an hour or so'' Chris asks with wiggling eyebrows. Harry rolls his eyes, but Chris' phone is already shoved in Harry's hand. Chris scrolls up all the way to the top for the other and taps the profile picture.

It shows a rather handsome brunette with a beautifully crooked smile out and a handful of crinkles framing his blue eyes. The picture seems to have been taken by someone else and showing the upper half of his torso with what most likely is a sports jersey. That Harry found him attractive was an obscene understatement. Harry was entranced and it didn't go unnnoticed. ''Do I need to give you a moment so you can drool on my brand new phone or are you gonna snap out of it. I mean the lad's handsome 'n all, but really?'' Chris asks with a glaring smirk on his face. ''If I didn't know better I'd say you have a thing for blokes.'' Midway the sentence Harry had lifted himself out of quicksand puddle of arousal that specific image had put him in and squirmed a bit, trying to conceal the nail that had just been hit on the head.

Harry was very much gay, and everyone must've questioned him once with his endless supply of Hawaiian blouses nearly showing his Butterfly tattoo on his stomach, glitter shoes and leopard print coat. He didn't know if people just regarded this as a side affect of having a lot of money combined with fame, but it was quite.. obvious.

Although, still having a few teenage girls in love with him and having many long-term contracts was something stopping him from skipping around with a rainbow flag and setting a foot out his milkglass closet. But. Hiding it away from the ones close to you was feeling like your life was one big fat lie. Especially when many were watching. So there was one thing left to do. After months of being Harry's lap dog including the nice set of puppy eyes and loyalty, he found it rather appropiate to tell him.

''Well, Chris, let's say you indeed do not know better.'' Harry says with a wave of confidence not so coincedentally washing over him. Watching Chirs' face at that moment might've made Harry's just a bit better. You could just see it change from ''Ha! I knew!'' to ''Holy shit he's actually gay'' to a very lingering and gradual facial expression that simultaneously looked like a lightbulb moment and pure mischief. Harry wasn't sure what to think and might've been a bit afraid of what was to come.

''When was the last time you shagged?'' Chris hurriedly asks, as if just asking if he was hungry or somewhat. Harry opens his mouth, only to be stopped by the other holding his hands up as if to say 'stop'. ''Harry no time for your offended French millionaire face, when?''. Harry hesitantly anwers. ''Six months, roughly... But I only do stuff when I really like someo-'' ''Yeah, yeah, commitment bullshit 'n all, I get it. Six months though, damn.'' And he shortly after nods decisively, as if it's a confirmation for something.

Then, suddenly Chris stands up, sing-songs ''On y va!'', grabs Harry's wrist and the two take off. They start walking through the endless and saddening corridors of the studio. ''You sure you'll be on air tonight?'' Chris asks, not stopping nor turning around to receive his answer. ''I guess so, but it's in my area so um, yes.'' he vaguely responds. "Great" Chris responds.


End file.
